


What it's worth

by Unicorn (Jensee)



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Dubious Consent, Honey pot mission, M/M, Other, mild coercition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21697882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jensee/pseuds/Unicorn
Summary: What is he ready to give for the cause? What is he ready to lose?  His dignity isn't worth much, so he might as well forgo it; his will is flightly and weak, he might as well follow someone else's. Surely Apophis knows, surely Apophis wouldn't led him astray.(Apophis, he sometimes finds himself thinking bitterly, never has to get his own hands dirty.)
Relationships: Apophis/Oscar Wilde (Rusty Quill Gaming), Oscar Wilde/Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2019





	What it's worth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flammenkobold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammenkobold/gifts).



> I'm slightly worried this isn't quite what you wanted, so I hope you like it enough (if not I totally will make it up to you)

“Oscar!” Apophis exclaims when he’s sufficiently human looking that his voice doesn’t bring the mountain down on them, only makes the air vibrate around Oscar’s ears.

He’s smiling, showing sharp white teeth between the ruby of his lips, but it’s impossible to say whether the outward look of joy is in any way truthful or if the meritocrat is simply hiding his distaste.

It’s a mistake he’s made before.

“Sir,” he responds, mild.

Apophis crosses the space between them, his smile still firmly in place. His embrace is uncomfortably warm when it closes around Oscar, like standing slightly too close to a fire.

“I’m glad to see you, Oscar. How was this little something I asked you to take care of for me?”

“It was fine, Sir. An easy target.”

It really had been. All too easy to find a young halfling student - happy to party and to drink - to flirt with him and get him alone…

“Do you have what I need?” The meritocrat asks, gently. His hand caresses Oscar’s cheek, the polished back of his claws soft on his skin.

“Here it is.”

He drops the vial on Apophis’s open palm, a glass tube full of blood. He doesn’t know what Apophis wants with the halfling, why he’s going to use this blood for. He only knows that somewhere in London a few mornings ago, a certain Hamid Saleh Haroun Al Tahan had woken up in a hotel room, with no memory of the night before and no explanation, probably scared and ashamed.

He doesn’t know the purpose of those missions, and sometimes he wants to rebel, to push back, but he does know something.

This is for the cause.

Whatever Apophis’s reason is, it has to be justified.

Oscar is only to be the messenger, the emissary of the cause they’re defending.

Oscar alone is just an insignificant poet whose thoughts are as inconsistent, as flighty as the wind. The world as a whole is more important that he can ever hope to be - too important to be let at the hand of some words thrown together with a somewhat decent sense of rhythm - and so is the cause. It’s important.

So it doesn’t matter if Oscar has to dissolve himself in it.

It doesn’t matter what he has to do. As long as it’s for the cause, it doesn’t matter.

It’s well worth it.

“Thank you.” Says Apophis. His voice hurts Oscar’s ears, too deep and rumbly, and his tone is once again indecipherable, as smooth and featureless as the stones lining up the caves. “You did a very good job once again, Oscar,” Claws delicately trace his cheekbone and travel to the back of his neck, a tender gesture underlined with a sharp, ever present threat. “I think you deserve a treat… don’t you?”

A thumb caresses his lips, its sharp tip ever so slightly dipping into the soft wet heat of his mouth.

Looking Apophis in the eyes is painful, like staring at an open flame; like standing under the sun for too long.

He could say no, those eyes are saying. He could still say no, reject the attention and the affection he has earned; renounce his place by the meritocrat’s side, renounce the place he’s carved for himself in the universe.

Oscar’s dignity has never been worth much.

It’s easily discarded.

“Please” he whispers, and Apophis smiles.

Then there’s a hot mouth at his throat and Oscar lets himself groan when a mark is burnt into his skin. It’s a lot - a bit too much - a painful blessing that sends a shiver through his whole body.

There’s a lot Oscar’s given up for the cause. A lot more he’d give up if necessary.

This is a reward if anything, and he should feel grateful for the attention, grateful that  _ Apophis himself  _ enjoys his company.

He does enjoy it.

It’s just…

Apophis pushes down on his neck and Oscar falls obediently down on his knees. The floor is hard under him and the collar of red burns on his neck hurts, but Apophis looks down at him with his toothy, wide smile, and Oscar feels warm with it.

Technically, the meritocrat can take whatever size he pleases, but Oscar has a suspicion there’s some kind of illusion involved in making him seems larger, bigger when he’s on his knees. Apophis towers over him, and like this, Oscar really does feel as though he’s worshipping a deity, a god walking among mortals.

One that is letting Oscar touch them; worship them.

He takes Apophis’s cock in his mouth and closes his eyes. It always surprises him how normal it tastes, like any dick he’s ever had in his mouth. Maybe just a bit more acrid, like the faint aftertaste of ash.

There’s a clawed hand curling in his hair, pushing him deeper on the cock in his mouth.

“Look at me, Oscar,” demands Apophis, the roar of his voice hushed to a simple torrent.

Oscar obeys, trying to relax his jaw so as not to choke on the dick invading it. “You’re always so good at his… Did our little Hamid enjoy it, as well?”

He had, although he’d looked a bit unsure when Oscar had sank to his knees in front of him, grasping at straws to distract the young halfling as the soporific he’d slipped in his drink slowly dulled his senses. Hamid had had the time to squirm and sigh as Oscar sucked him off, his uncertainty disappearing as he got more and more desperate to come. Even once he’s got off and climbed into the taxi Oscar had called for them, he’d been surprisingly aware, to the point that Oscar had started to wonder if the sleeping draught had been faulty - how far he’d have to go to accomplish his mission.

Apophis sighs with pleasure and tighten his grip on Oscar’s hair, pulling him deep until Oscar’s lips are kissing his pelvis and his cock is fully seated in his throat. Oscar has to concentrate on the feeling of his nails digging into his palms so he doesn’t struggle against the hold to break away and breath.

Apophis says something, but over the rush of blood in Oscar’s ears, he can only catch the rumbling echo of the mountain.

Just as he starts to lose his vision, Apophis releases him and he struggles to stay dignified as he pushes away and wheezes air back into his lungs.

“Come here,” the meritocrat orders, and Oscar obeys, unsteadily pushing on his weak legs to accept the embrace Apophis is offering. “My beautiful little Oscar,” growls Apophis fondly, “did you prepare yourself for me?”

Oscar nods, feeling weak. Apophis’s hands travel over his body, coming to rest on the line of his pants. It doesn't seem hurried, but Oscar can feel the claws running over his skin, and he doesn't waste any time unbuttoning his pants so they gently slid down his legs at Apophis’s poking. The cavern echos Apophis’s pleasing humming, and Oscar lets his head rest on the meritocrat hard shoulder, hoping against all hope he can simply stay like this, eyes closed against reality.

He could say no at any moment, he knows. He could have come in here without prepping himself, his hole unbothered instead of slick and relaxed around his own fingers, knowing Apophis wouldn’t be able to use his claws.

He could have refused at any point, rejected the honor Apophis likes to bestow upon him; denied the deity that likes to bring him closer to him, that allows him to be more than a passing shade.

But this is an honor. One Oscar couldn't refuse; one he wouldn't want to refuse.

Apophis pulls him up with supernatural, easy strength, and Oscar pushes the meritocrat's head into his chest in a mockery of tenderness to hide his face when he starts to penetrate him.

It feels good, almost unreasonably so. He has to groan as Apophis bottoms out, stretching him to unavoidably painful limits, but the pain only mingles with the pleasure, and the moan that escapes him when Apophis sighs and starts to properly fuck him certainly isn’t one of distaste.

“Did you have Hamid use you like this?” Apophis whispers like a ferocious wind, and Oscar can only moan as the meritocrat quickens, burying himself, thick and deep, inside of him. The beast doesn’t seem to care for an answer, though. “Or did he let you fuck him? He must have been tight.”

Oscar doesn’t know whether Hamid was tight. He’d laid the halfling on his bed and climbed over him, kissing and coaxing his tired cock while hoping the student would finally succumb to the sleeping drought despite his suspicions that the drug just hadn’t had any effect. Hamid had been hesitant, not quite pushing Oscar away, but slow to comply, asking him in worried tone if he was sure, if maybe they shouldn’t talk about this. Oscar had kissed him to shut him up, desperate to get to his mission and worried the boy would start to ask annoying questions.

It had been all too easy to sink on that cock, easy to buck over him and turn Hamid’s concerned tone into drawn out moans. It had been easy, and Oscar had closed his eyes and tried to make the boy come so it would be over for the both of them.

It had been for the cause.

“Did you like it?” Apophis growls, and Oscar has to cry out when the cock deep inside him strikes his most sensitive spot. The sound is answered by a deep rumble and Apophis fucks him harder, the movements painful and bright with forceful plaisure, until Oscar’s thoughts are truly much too scrambled for him to do any more than to hang onto the meritocrat’s every words. “I’m sure he enjoyed you, my precious Oscar.”

He clings to Apophis as the world's brightens behind his eyelids. The grumble starting in the meritocrat’s chest sounds pleased when he curls around him and feel himself come all over both their stomachs. Apophis fucks him through it, milking his orgasm until Oscar starts to whine in overstimulation. Then, all it takes are a few, deep thrusts pushing fiery, painful pleasure into Oscar, and the meritocrat is coming inside of him.

Apophis buries himself deep as he does, and breathes a uncomfortably warm breath over Oscar’s head, like he always does. They stay like this for a few moments, Apophis’s head tucked into his shoulder and Oscar resolutely keeping his eyes closed, trying to find comfort despite the hard edges of the meritocrat’s scales digging into his limbs.

Then, the moment of peace is over and Oscar winces as Apophis pulls out.

“Very good job.” Apophis murmurs into his neck as he licks yet another fiery mark into his neck. “I’m very proud of you, Oscar.”

He shivers under the touch.

The beast nuzzles him for a moment longer, his body heat hot enough to border on painful as it envelops him.

Then Apophis sighs, and his claws retreat from where they’d been drawing shapes over Oscar’s ass.

“I would spend more time with you, but I do have other duties to attend.”

He draws away slowly and the lack of warmth immediately makes Oscar feel cold, a relief from the furnace of the meritocrat’s body and a pit of dread opening in his stomach, maws of discomfort gnawing at his insides.

Apophis starts dressing back up, swiftly moving his hand to prestidigitate them both clean. The spell doesn’t dissipate the cum Oscar can feel slowly trickling out of his fucked out hole, but he makes no comment as he puts his pants back on. Either it was on purpose and the meritocrat would get annoyed at Oscar’s objection, or it was an oversight, and pointing it out would be seen as disrespectful.

“It’s always nice seeing you, Oscar” Apophis concludes, a clear dismissal, and Oscar nods with a smile he’s perfected over the years.

It’s normal. Of course a meritocrat doesn’t have more time to allot him. That he enjoys Oscar’s body should be quite enough, really. He has no right to expect anymore than that.

“Oh, and Oscar,” Apophis calls, when he’s almost left the part of the cavern that allows the meritocrat some privacy “you have your next assignment ready to be picked up. Don’t forget.”

He nods dutifully and steps out.

He salutes Apophis’s servant with a small smile, wondering how much of them know exactly what happened in the meritocrat’s somewhat private quarters. He picks up the envelope and doesn’t bother making any quick chat with the man that gives him back his dagger. He feels exhausted suddenly, cold and almost dizzy with a slight nausea, and cold sweat running down his arms, making them frigid with a cold, icy feeling. The only thing he can think of is a scalding hot bath and a warm bed he can sink into.

He thinks of Hamid’s sleeping form, curled into him afterwards, and the spell he’d put on him, to make sure he would stay that way until he was done with drawing his blood. And another one so that his memory would be blurry, that he wouldn’t be able to remember enough to know Oscar Wilde had been his dubious one night stand, and just enough that it would seem like the simple result of an hangover.

He’d left Hamid in a warm bed, hoping it would feel better once he’d wake up. He doesn’t know what the point of the mission had been, but the student hadn’t seemed like someone evil; maybe simply a bit petty, a bit of a twat, easily led along by mean-spirited friends. Nothing that warranted the wrath of a meritocrat.

Probably.

That wasn’t for him to decide.

Climbing in his own warm bed, he thinks it does make it better, albeit not as much as he’d hoped.

He’s fine, though.

Everything’s fine.

He did it for the cause, and for the cause he’d do it again.

He falls asleep slowly, letting the envelope with his next mission fall to the ground as the slumber slowly takes hold of his limbs.

Soon, he’ll have to come back to London.

He’ll see Hamid again, not recognizing him and frazzled after an incident much worse than a pushy date.

He’ll be fine.

It’s all worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> I did an accidental reference to Once Upon a Time in the West here and I Howled rereading it


End file.
